


Last Dance

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creationism, F/F, F/M, Impending Apocalypse, M/M, Major Character Dies Multiple Times, Multi, Multiple Deaths, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standard Life/Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: In The Beginning...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Just_Jay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Jay/gifts).



> The nature of this relationship (Life/Death) is the only reason why I'm okay with writing these two particular entities together.
> 
> Inspirations from "Darksiders" and John Milton's "Paradise Lost"

[...] and Death fell in love with Life as Life spilled out of the heavens to stain an earthy place [...] as Chaos rose only to fall once more [...] and The Balance came to exist between Life and Death: bound fates and futures entwined [...] but it is because of The Balance and because of His love for Life that Death had chained Himself to Heavens white gates to defy The Order, had exiled Himself to Chaos to await punishment as He had defied The Balance [...] and the war between Heaven and Chaos came to cessation [...] if only that Life could thrive and bloom upon that earthy place without the touch of Death to stop Him

And it is because Death so loved Life that Humanity – Life’s greatest artistry – came to be.

[...] and the earthy place came to be filled with His creations – large and small, fearful and fearless – but as full as the earthy place came to be was as empty as He came to be, for Life had found Himself left with the emptiness that He had vanquished from that earthy place, ever growing as He breathed His essence within the crafted beings. Such was The Balance [...] He breathed His last breath and found the beings as ugly as He and His brethren [...] and it is because Life so craved beauty that His eyes found home, found Death chained before The Order [...] and it is because Life so craved beauty that He guided His creations to the feet of Death [...] and Death reached into Life and returned the emptiness that Life had taken from that earthy place

And it is because Life so craved beauty that Death entered that earthy place, that mortality entered His creations.

[...] and so The Balance had been restored as Life and Death roamed the earthy place [...] until the war between the Heavens and Chaos called upon Death once more [...] until The Order looked upon Chaos and the Heavens, upon the devastation of Their war and upon Their brethren within the arms of Death [...] and The Order saw and hated what They had become, and called upon Death to bring Life to His end [...] and yet as Death looked upon Life and upon the Heaven’s, looked upon Chaos and The Order, the only finality He could fathom was His own.

And it is because Death so loved Life that Life ceased to exist in one form but in many.


	2. Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite popular belief, Death has little to do with the affairs of Creation. He simply returns the emptiness Life takes.

Lively pastels spill out of the room across the hall from where He sits; pastels spill out only to dance against the otherwise barren, white-wash of sterile walls and the contours and ridges of His borrowed face. He trades the images of a clock ticking too slowly for the beautiful composition forming as the shadows of the eve dance hand in hand with the flickering light of a television that had been left on throughout the duration of the night, trades the images of a clock ticking too slowly for an opening door. He forces out a sigh though He knows not why, attempts to steal a glance into the room though nothing has chained Him to the place He had found in a chair within the lobby. ((Any moment now)) but the moments here, these earthly allocations of time, all seem to pass at a painstakingly slow pace – something He finds to be both a blessing and a curse – and He can feel something, exasperation He supposes, broiling up from within Himself.

Shadows disrupt the dance of light and dark; whispers chase out the silence.

(“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ramos, but...”) ((“Oh, no. No, we were never... I mean, we wanted to get married one day, sure, but we... Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”)) Her voice is shaking and her nerves are prominently rattled, her fear eminent within her features and for a moment He wants to reach out to her, to assure her that she had nothing to fear, that her significant other would be cared for and loved where he was going... ((“Why are you speaking to me like this? You’re sorry? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re sorry... No!”)) She knows, and for a moment, for just a moment it’s as if she could see Him. He can feel the weight of her gaze, can hear all of her unasked questions echoing within his mind, can feel her pain resonating throughout His core. ((“No! Don’t you fucking touch me, you...! You get your overpaid ass back in there and you -do- something!”)) The doctor draws a sharp contrast to the painted woman; he’s calm, cool, collected. He’s been forced to tell three families something similar – and that was just for today – but their clocks, they had more time than she had with her little piece of Leo.

The clock ticked off the (earthly ordained) ‘seconds’ too slowly for Him, but His too slow was her too quick.

Despite popular belief, Cristiano seldom came for any of the Creations, though there had certainly been exceptions – a human named Hitler from a few (earthly ordained) ‘years’ back, a silverback gorilla that had turned on his own family, and a few plants that He simply didn’t like – but only because Leo had begged Him to interfere in those instances, had labelled the Creations unworthy and Their hold on Him too strong (bar the plant life – that He had done, does of His own accord much to Leo’s discontent). He danced not with the Creations despite what so many a poet had claimed, He walked not in the company of the Creations despite what so many artists had averred; He simply waited for Leo to grow weak within the Creations, waited for the flickers of Life to slowly die out and made Himself available to gather the remnants of Life out from within the Creations, available to restore the emptiness that Life had taken from this earthy place – eighty, twenty, seven – years, months ago. Such was The Balance.

He had never taken life, no; He simply restored Life by restoring the emptiness that Life had once taken. He was a lot of things yet a taker, a taker He had never been.

Sometimes He held the remnants, sometimes He held Leo, sometimes He held Life longer than He needed to... Sometimes the remnants held Him, but within a single flutter of a fly’s wing, they would be jolted apart once more: Death left to momentarily restore the emptiness, Life to fill it once more. ((“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, doctor. I shouldn’t have, but if you can just... Are you sure that you’ve tried everything?”)) (“Mrs. Ramos...”) She doesn’t correct the doctor this time, doesn’t shove his hand from off of her elbow. (“He doesn’t have much time – no time, actually – and I truly think you should spend his final moments with him, saying your goodbyes.”) He finds His way out of the borrowed body with the words, slowly makes His way into the room by way of the woman’s shadow. The woman – Pilar, he learns from the broken voice of the Creation within the bed – is falling apart and He can see her piece of Leo faltering within her shell. ((Not yet, my dear)). He grips her shoulder, feels Leo’s relief seep out from within her as He guides her every waking fear to their due deaths, and makes enough room for her memories to flood her every thought; and, with a touch of Life, they will. They’ll bloom and they’ll flower, they’ll revive and they’ll blossom on a day that she’s long since forgot – with the right touch. With His touch, and his.

((“They say we don’t have much time, Sergio.”)) The man in the bed seems to have sensed as much without the aid of her words but wastes no time with words of his own. There’s no fear for Death to take from this Creation, no worries for Him to silence. He reaches for her...

...and Death borrows her if only for a moment, borrows her as He finds Leo within the almond eyes of the Creation destined to wither away in this bed, and smiles as Leo finds Him within her. This earthly construct of time, the passing of the Creations’ star, all of it seems to hold still as They touch, as They dance. As Life brushes Death with His fingertips, as Leo finds Cristiano behind eyes of blue and sweeps of brown hair, as Sergio finds Pilar’s falling tears with the sweep of his thumb. Every time like the first time, He finds Himself breathless and unable to cope with the feeling that surges through him with the contact: mortality, Leo had once called it.

It is in these moments that Life holds the beauty of Death, that Death relishes in His own love of Life.

“I think bleeding mascara suits You,” Leo chuckles as He finds Cristiano smiling softly before Him, the rises of the Other’s borrowed cheekbones painted in charcoal black, “but there’s not a lot of things that You can’t pull off.” Blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes and dark, flowing hair. He remembers this Creation and feels Himself drawn to her, to Him but He resists the pull of The Balance for but a moment more. He knows that Death wants this moment to last as long as she does, that when He departs from this Creation that it will be too soon for both the Creations and the entity of Death. “I know You’ll argue that hooded robes and scathes haven’t suited you since Humanity’s 14th Century, but I still think that You could pull them off to this very day.” ((“I suppose You are as exhausted as You appear. When You depart this one, You’re going to need to take a few moments to rest and gather Yourself.”)) He laughs even though He feels much too tired to laugh – much too exhausted to be in the body of an earthly ordained twenty-nine-year-old Creation – and He can feel Their connection faltering, slipping. “I should probably...” but He doesn’t finish, simply reaches for Death as the Other continues to stare at the earthly Creation He was preparing to depart. “It’s time.”

Despite popular belief, Life exists only in a gray area where very little black and white can be found. The lines blur and definition is hard to find in His Creations; it is in His complications that Death finds His charm. The glass isn’t always empty when Death finds Him within the Creations, and the glass isn’t always full when Life infuses His essence within the Creations – Life gives what He can; at times He has more to give, and then there are often times that He has less. Some of the Creations receive something of a refill, some receive more ice than substance, and some spill Theirs all over. Some receive nothing but an empty glass.

Cristiano can sense the finality on the horizon but He knows better than any entity, knows that Leo can stay here a little while longer, is strong enough to give these Creations – this Pilar and this Sergio – just a few moments more, but He can see the tiredness in the Other’s eyes and He knows, knows better than any entity, that Leo needs His rest. In truth, He had warned Him of this, had warned Leo that as His Creations grew in numbers, the weaker He’d become; the lifespans of some of the Creations have been greatly reduced as their numbers increased and Their reunions only increased in frequency as the Creations spread across this earthy place but Leo never cared for His lectures. Leo was capable of extending Himself only so much – such was The Balance – but Creation was the way of Life, was the way of Leo... and for every ounce of Himself that Cris returned to Him – every extinct animal and every wilting plant, for every death and for every ounce of emptiness that Death returned to that earthy place – Leo filled with His essence, with His Creations, twice over.

Such was the charm of Life.

((“I love you”)) and His smile softens evermore as her voice parts from His borrowed lips, as Leo allows His Creation but a moment more if only for an (“I love you, one. Now and forever. In this life and in the next”) and Death pulls the fragment of Life out from within the one He had called Sergio. They don’t touch – they can’t touch in this form – but that has never stopped Them from reaching, the fragmented Life from reaching for the beauty of Death, Death for the love of Life. ((You should stay, if only for a moment more. Until You regain Your strength, until I find You Your strength)). (You know that this, this is something I cannot do) and with the jolt, Life returns to His Creations.

He’s seen millions, billions, trillions, countless dances but these, these have always been His favourites.

He closes the Creation’s eyes one final time and whispers His blessing as the shell of Sergio seemingly falls to dirt beneath His touch, turns to observe Life faltering once more within the beautiful human called Pilar and marvels as it dims yet again. Her glass won’t topple over and spill suddenly as Sergio’s had, but He can still see the crack within it, can still see Life draining ever so slowly from out of her... but Life exists only in shades of gray, is more complicated than black and white pixels, and He smiles as Life blooms from within her, as Leo infuses a piece of the one called Sergio within her. “In this life and the next.”

-

She looks up as whispered words find her, glances around the empty room and back at her once lover, tears slipping down her cheeks as she finds him now confined to an eternal slumber. “This is all my fault,” and she collapses to the floor as she feels her heart fluttering, as the room starts to spin, as the definition and lines of her reality become distorted. “I should have let you drive. I should have...” A ghostlike touch over her abdomen, a ghostlike feel within her womb. “In this life and the next.”

Life blooms within a memory she’s long since forgot... and an emptiness fills.


End file.
